<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>sandbox love never dies by emollience</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28446510">sandbox love never dies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/emollience/pseuds/emollience'>emollience</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Horror, Black Comedy, Emetophobia, F/F, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jennifer's body au, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:00:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28446510</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/emollience/pseuds/emollience</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re eating people.” </p><p>“I’m eating <i>boys.”</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adora/Catra (She-Ra)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>283</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sandbox love never dies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/scntuary/gifts">scntuary</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>happy new year's eve or new year's depending on where u are on the planet!! </p><p>i just rewatched jennifer's body and felt slightly insane. everything takes place in 2009, the year of the emo fringe and all time low. </p><p>this is for the end-of-the-year exchange in the whispering woods library server and a gift for cory!! i hope you enjoy it!<br/>here's a playlist too! <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3pGM9UIixqt95JJaBXepdq?si=Y9wigi0qQgOVERqYPj-r3g">x</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"><span class="small">I would love you even if you killed God</span> <span class="small"></span><br/><span class="small"> <span class="small">"ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS," Danez Smith</span></span></p><p class="p1"><span class="small">Hell is a teenage girl. </span> <span class="small"></span><br/><span class="small"> <span class="small">JENNIFER'S BODY, Karyn Kusama </span> </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="small"> </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Adora wakes up in the middle of the night to Catra―who she hasn’t spoken to in over two years―knocking at her door and promptly vomiting at her feet. Which, first of all, gross. Second of all: rude. Despite the tension that still fizzles between them to this day whenever they so much as cross paths in the school hallways, Adora’s never done anything as bad as puking on her ex-best friend. </p><p>To make matters worse, the vomit’s gross. Not just typical sick gross but it’s black, and tar-like, and Adora’s fairly sure that’s, like, a chunk of animal―maybe a squirrel; the tail is definitely curly―floating in the thick substance now staining her favorite unicorn slippers which Catra coincidentally gifted her back in middle school when they were both still a little too close for completely and unapologetically heterosexual best friends. </p><p>Catra, clad in a baggy torn up black shirt and ripped up jeans, looks up at Adora with possibly the most vacant expression she’s ever seen on her face (and that’s saying something; Adora once tried explaining Grey’s Anatomy to her for an hour straight only to end up with a sleeping Catra on her lap). She coughs. Black spittle escapes her mouth and dribbles down her chin. </p><p>“Hey, Adora,” she says. </p><p>“What the fuck?” Adora responds. What else is she supposed to say? They haven’t talked in two years. They were seated together for chemistry class at the beginning of the year and Catra switched out of that period the next day. Now she’s puking on Adora’s front step as if she hadn’t called Adora a bitch for joining the soccer team. </p><p>Catra shoves Adora to the side and scrambles to the kitchen, holding herself up against the wall. Typical. No consideration for the fact that now Adora’s going to have to explain to her mom why there’s not just black vomit on the front step but smeared along their pristine white walls too. </p><p>She follows after Catra, fairly sure that she should be calling an ambulance, and finds her kneeling in front of the fridge, shoveling raw meat from the freezer into her mouth at an alarming rate. </p><p>“Catra,” she says, edging to the phone perched on the wall, “what’s going on? Should I call your mom?”</p><p>Catra’s head snaps towards Adora. Those are not her teeth. Those teeth are sharp and smeared in tar-like vomit and blood. She bares them at Adora and growls. </p><p>It’s gotten too weird. </p><p>“I’m calling an ambulance,” she says, reaching for the phone. </p><p>A hand slams her wrist against the wall. Adora yelps, dropping the phone, and its dial echoes in the kitchen as Catra presses the length of her body against Adora. The two inches Adora holds over Catra mean nothing. She noses along Adora’s neck; brushes her lips against the skin of her throat. She smells like death; like wet soil, and rot, and blood, and burnt hair. Adora’s heart thuds erratically in her throat. </p><p>She’s definitely had this dream before, except Catra never puked on her nor did she have teeth that were actually fangs in it, so it’s not as fun. </p><p>“Catra?” she whispers, voice trembling.</p><p>With a hiss, Catra pulls away. She drops Adora and disappears in a flash, far quicker than any reasonable person could credit to her track and field training. </p><p>Adora drops to the floor, shaking. She touches the skin of her throat still warm from the press of Catra’s nose, her mouth. </p><p>“What the fuck,” she says again. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The following morning, the small town of Etheria wakes to chaos. Specifically: the smoldering aftermath of a fire consuming the entirety of that shitty dive bar The Crimson Waste that never checks for IDs and every teenager has gotten drunk in at least once.</p><p>Adora, exhausted after a night scrubbing at her vomit covered linoleum floor, walks into school and finds the halls erupted into grief-stricken pandemonium. Etheria is a small town; it’s barely a mark on the map. Her mom complained that if the recession gets any worse it’s likely they’ll be marked as unincorporated territory, whatever that means. The point is: Everyone knows everyone. If ancient Susie down the streets dies, then the entire town freezes. It smothers itself in grief. One person is bad enough. An entire fire-ridden massacre is another story. </p><p>She passes kids sitting and crying in the halls on the way to her locker like a spectator. She can’t tell if it’s the sleep deprivation or the shock. </p><p>“I can’t believe they didn’t cancel classes,” a teary-eyed Glimmer tells her during pre-calc. Her hair isn’t as bright and glittery as usual. Her roots are growing in; she’ll need to dye her hair soon. “It’s so messed up. How is anyone supposed to concentrate today?” </p><p>Adora tunes her and Bow out. She stares down at her incomplete formula sheet. She thinks she must be reacting wrong to the tragedy surrounding her if she’s sitting here wondering if Catra actually stormed into her house last night or if it was just a really, really weird dream. Logic dictates that she should want it to be a bizarre dream, but she kinda prefers it weren’t. She’s not sure what that kind of dream would say about her. </p><p>“I heard Scorpia and Catra were there,” says Bow. </p><p>Adora’s head snaps up. “What?” </p><p>He frowns at her. The three of them sit together at their assigned table, him and Glimmer predictably next to each other. He leans forward, folding his arms on the wooden surface. “Scorpia stayed home today. She’s totally freaked out. She texted Perfuma about it, so Perfuma ditched after first period to stay with her.” </p><p>“Why were Scorpia and Catra even there?” </p><p>Glimmer rolls her eyes. “Catra probably dragged Scorpia with her. Wasn’t there some weird indie band playing there last night?” </p><p>Bow nods, frowning. “Catra was in APUSH this morning. She seemed...fine.” </p><p>“She showed up at my place last night,” Adora blurts out. She nearly clamps a hand over her mouth. Too late now. She barrels on: “She didn’t talk to me and she was covered in blood. She just...threw up and acted real weird and then left.” </p><p>Bow and Glimmer share a look. They’re always sharing looks. It’s annoying, to be frank; like they’re her parents discussing her with a single glance. It’d actually be kinda cute if it weren’t so condescending. </p><p>“What?” she says. </p><p>“You two haven’t talked since sophomore year,” says Bow. “She must’ve really been in shock.”</p><p>Adora doesn’t mention the tar-and-squirrel vomit. It was definitely a squirrel. She had to clean it up herself. Coincidentally, she’s considering going vegetarian now. </p><p>By the time lunch rolls around, everyone’s heard not just about the fire, but the fact Catra and Scorpia were there. Only one student passed in the fire: that scrawny junior Kyle, who no one would’ve expected to be at the Waste. He was just a grade below them, but Adora’s known him all her life. He lived just down the block. Adora and Catra used to ride bikes with him and Lonnie and Rogelio when they were all kids. Sure, they used to bully him relentlessly too, but that ended when she and Catra stopped hanging out. </p><p>Ignoring the fact that it’s Taco Tuesday, Adora heads out to the trash behind the cafeteria and catches sight of Catra smoking, leaning back against the brick walls of the building. Without a word, Adora knocks the cigarette out of her hand. </p><p>Catra blinks at her. “That was rude.” </p><p>“You know what’s rude?” Adora grounds the cigarette under the heel of her boot. “Puking all over someone and then not helping them clean up.” </p><p>She rolls her eyes. She looks fine. Great, even. Her skin basically glows under the late winter sky and her hair is shining and definitely not burnt, curls bouncy and luscious, no frizz in sight. </p><p>“Ugh, who cares?” She reaches for the red Marlboro pack in her jean’s front pocket. “Move on dot org, Adora.” </p><p>Adora plucks the pack from her hands and holds it over her head. She only has two inches on her, so Catra could easily reach for it, but it’s the principle of the thing. “You were at the Waste.” </p><p>“Was I?” Catra folds her arms over her chest. She’s wearing that black leather jacket Adora got her for her birthday freshman year; the one with the yellow ouroboros on the back. She wears it all the time. It fits her perfectly. </p><p>“Catra.” </p><p>“Adora.” </p><p>“What the fuck was that last night? I thought you were dying.” </p><p>“Oh my god.” Catra rolls her eyes again. She leans back against the wall. Her curls shine brilliant brown in the sun. The freckles on her cheeks and spread over the bridge of her nose pop against the brown of her skin. She’s always been beautiful, always been glaringly gorgeous, but this is...different. “I was wasted, okay? There was a fire, and I was drunk, and I just happened to be near your house.” </p><p>“I live on the other side of town.” </p><p>“Logistics. Chill out, princess. Clearly I’m fine.” She gestures towards herself. She looks amazing. Adora’s furious. “Can I have my cigs back or are you picking up a new habit?”</p><p>Adora pockets them, wrinkling her nose at Catra. “Are you sure you’re okay?”</p><p>Catra looks at her, accusatory. “Why do you care?” </p><p>“Why wouldn’t I?” </p><p>Catra smirks at her. She pushes off the wall, infringing on Adora’s personal space, her breath hot against Adora’s mouth. She looks up at her beneath her lashes, a hand settling on Adora’s hip. Adora freezes.  “Oh, Adora,” is all she says before shouldering past her. </p><p>When she checks, her pockets are empty. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Everyone’s obsessed with this new band called the Horde. Their song, “The Light,” plays everywhere, even on the morning announcements. Adora thinks it’s trash. They’re the heroes of the hour, apparently. They saved a bunch of people in their shitty predatory white van and now Etheria is lapping at their heels. Their single goes platinum within the month. </p><p>“I only saw Catra get in their van,” says Scorpia one day, curled in on herself. She sits next to Perfuma, prosthetic hand clutching brown fingers. “I don’t know. It was all really confusing. Maybe there were more people in there, but I only saw her.”</p><p>Catra walks the halls with her head held high. As the weeks progress, her hair loses some of its shine. Her skin grays. She looks a little closer to the girl holding Adora to the wall than the one smoking outside in the sun the next day. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>She’s sitting on the bleachers long after soccer practice when Catra plops down next to her. </p><p>“I could smell you across the field,” she says. </p><p>Adora scowls. “Hey to you too.” </p><p>Catra tilts her head at Adora. She looks like shit: the bags beneath her eyes are borderline black; her curls hang loose and lackluster over her shoulders; her skin’s pale and dry and dim. She’s definitely lost some weight. That signature leather jacket hangs loose on her frame in a way it never has. </p><p>“We should do something this Friday.”</p><p>Adora pauses. She stares at Catra. Catra stares back, face blank. Her lips are so chapped that Adora’s tempted to offer her some chapstick. </p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Catra shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe I miss you.”</p><p>Adora hasn’t stepped foot into Catra’s house since The Night, which is different from That Night. One night included a lot of screaming. The other included squirrel chunks. </p><p>“Bow, Glimmer, and I are having a movie night this Friday,” she says. “You could come. It’d be fun.” </p><p>A scowl twitches at the corner of Catra’s mouth. She exhales, loudly, and then says, “Sure, I guess. Sparkles’ house?” </p><p>Adora nods. She’s just about to say something else, she’s not sure what, when Catra reaches out and tugs at a loose lock of wheat blonde hair that’s managed to escape her ponytail. Adora’s mouth dries. She watches as Catra tucks it behind her ear, face close. Even like this, clearly sleep deprived and malnourished and, frankly, kinda gross, she’s the prettiest girl Adora’s ever seen. </p><p>“See ya,” she says, then walks away, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket, leaving Adora lost and confused and covered in a new layer of sweat that has little to do with soccer. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Adora and Catra met when they were six and five, respectively. See, Catra’s always been smart, so they didn’t even bother placing her in kindergarten. Just skipped her right to first grade where the teacher assigned her the seat next to Adora’s. One look and the rest was history. It was love at first sight. </p><p>They did everything together. Held hands during field trips, in line to class and lunch, even sitting at their seats when they were doing busy work. Catra was left-handed, so it worked out just fine for them. </p><p>Lonnie moved into the neighborhood in the middle of the year. She was smart, and funny, and laughed at Adora’s jokes so Adora thought, hey, it can be three of us now. Catra didn’t think so. She cried when Adora called Lonnie her friend and hid in the woods for hours. Her mom sent out a search party and everything, but the only person that could find her was Adora. She was stuffed into the hollow of a tree trunk, curled in on herself, sniffling quietly when Adora stumbled upon her late at night. </p><p>“Hi,” Adora said. </p><p>“Hey,” Catra replied. </p><p>Adora managed to slide into the trunk with her. It was small if you were big like an adult, but it fit the two of them just fine. “You scared me.” </p><p>“I didn’t mean to,” she said. “I just wanted to be alone.” </p><p>Adora nodded. “I know. It was still scary. There’s a bunch of cops with flashlights and dogs out there looking. I sent them to the other side of town.” </p><p>“Why?” </p><p>“Dogs scare you,” she answered simply. </p><p>Catra sniffled again. She shifted forward and Adora opened her arms, held Catra to her chest, face buried in her hair. </p><p>“I don’t want Lonnie to be your best friend,” she said. “I thought <em> I </em>was your best friend.” </p><p>“You are!” Adora held Catra tighter, as tight as her tiny, pudgy kid arms would let her. “Lonnie isn’t my best friend. She never will be. You’re my best friend. You always will be.” </p><p>“You promise?” </p><p>“I promise.” </p><p>They eventually left, two dirt covered kids holding hands, and Catra was grounded forever. They rode bikes with the other kids, but it was always the two of them. Their moms hated it. Adora’s mom tried to lecture her about it once she hit ten. Something about how it wasn’t cute at that age anymore. How people would get ideas about them. How people would talk. How it looked. It wasn’t until Adora was a little older and started to notice the dip of Catra’s waist, the growing swell of her chest, that she understood what her mom meant. </p><p>It was a little too late by then. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Catra’s three hours late. </p><p>“Typical,” Glimmer complains. She slams the fridge door shut with her hip, arms full of wine spritzers and chip bags. “What else would you expect from her? She’s not going to change over night, Adora.” </p><p>She knows that. She’s not dumb, despite what people like to think. She’s trusting. There’s a difference. </p><p>Bow pats her shoulder. He pulls out some DVDs his eldest brother rented from Blockbuster. “Twilight or Final Destination 2?” </p><p>“Twilight’s stupid,” Adora says. “Why do they sparkle? They’re vampires.” </p><p>“It’s romance, Adora,” explains Bow very seriously. Glimmer, sitting right next to him, nods along with him. They have the worst taste in movies. She loves them both dearly, but it’s the truth. </p><p>She wrinkles her nose. “Final Destination 2.” </p><p>He pops the disc into the DVD player. They settle together on the floor, surrounded by a sea of pillows and blankets, dressed in their pjs. Glimmer’s in the middle per request. She hates horror movies even more than Bow does, but the two of them like to indulge Adora even though she gets just as scared as them. She couldn’t sleep for a month after watching the Grudge last summer. </p><p>Right as the movie shows a scene that will definitely force Adora to never take an elevator again, her phone rings. She disentangles herself from the group. Out in the hall, she flips her phone open and says, “Hello?” </p><p>“Hey, Adora,” a familiar voice says. “I’m here.” </p><p>“You’re, like, four hours late.” She makes her way to Glimmer’s front door. Her house is huge; one of the few in their town since her mom’s a doctor. </p><p>“Lost track of time.” </p><p>Adora opens the door. Catra, in ripped jeans, a red pullover, and that leather jacket, smiles at her and shuts her phone. She looks radiant. </p><p>“Nice jammies,” she greets. </p><p>Adora’s face burns. She’s wearing a Three Days Grace shirt she stole from Catra in middle school and pink unicorn shorts. No slippers, this time. She had to throw them out. Tar-and-squirrel vomit casualty. </p><p>“It’s a sleepover. You could probably borrow something from Glimmer.” </p><p>“I think my skin would literally burn off.” </p><p>“Yeah, just like stepping into church.” Adora rolls her eyes and leads Catra in. If it weren’t for years of sleepovers, she’d easily get lost in Glimmer’s house. She has, before. It was embarrassing. Her dad found her crying in the study. </p><p>They make it to Glimmer’s room where Glimmer predictably insults Catra and Catra promptly makes an obscene gesture that Glimmer returns just as easily. They all settle in and continue watching the movie, Catra pressed against Adora’s side, her head on her shoulder. It’s awful. It’s kinda perfect. It’s a picture from two years ago before The Night that Adora hadn’t allowed herself to miss for so long. </p><p>She slides her hand into Catra’s. Their fingers intertwine. </p><p>At some point in the night, Adora wakes to a blue screen and Bow and Glimmer curled up against each other. Catra’s gone. The pillow she used is still warm when Adora touches it. She pulls herself up and makes her way half-asleep out to the backyard where she finds Catra, dressed in one of Glimmer’s purple pajama sets and her jacket, smoking. Some things never change. </p><p>“Those things are gonna rot your teeth,” she says. She hugs her arms tight, shivering in the cold night air. </p><p>Catra exhales, a puff of smoke escaping her mouth. “I’m a god,” she replies. </p><p>“Sure.” Adora shakes her head. She shivers again and Catra pauses to pull off her jacket and hand it to Adora. It’s a little tight across the shoulders, but it does the job. </p><p>They stand together, staring up at the crescent moon. It’s a mirror to years past. Adora stuffs her hands in the pockets of the well-worn leather and chances a glance at Catra, only to find her looking back. She catalogues every inch of her face: the twitch at her jaw; the perfect smooth brown of her skin; the squint of her eyes, something raw and jagged breaking through them. </p><p>“I’m going to show you something,” says Catra. She pulls the cigarette out of her mouth and then jams the smoldering end against the skin of the back of her hand. </p><p>“Catra!” Adora slaps the cigarette from her skin, cradling her hand between her own, like she’s something fragile, something precious. She watches as the burnt wound shrinks in on itself; as it stitches itself back together until it’s gone completely, replaced by soft and smooth dark skin. </p><p>“Cool, huh?”</p><p>“What the fuck?”</p><p>Catra shrugs. “I told you: I’m a god.” </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The story went like this: </p><p>Catra, expert at sneaking out of her shitty house and away from her even shittier mother, convinced Scorpia to go out to a crappy dive bar on a Monday night even though Scorpia was a very diligent student who took her eight hours of sleep very seriously. </p><p>“It wasn’t hard,” Catra says, twirling a lock of Adora’s hair around her finger. She sits very close to Adora, the two of them huddled together for warmth on the swing seat nestled beneath one of the trees in Glimmer’s backyard. “I’m pretty sure Scorpia would kill someone without question if I asked.” </p><p>So they left in Scorpia’s mom’s shitty Volvo. The Horde was playing that night even though they were from the Fright Zone, which was an actual city with actual money that would definitely give them more star power than fucking Etheria. </p><p>“That should’ve been the first red flag. That and the fact Prime’s a white guy in dreads.” Catra rolls her eyes. They’ve always been a little cat-like, ironically, but this is different: They glow, slightly, in the night. It’s hypnotic. Adora can’t look away. </p><p>The Crimson Waste was as it always was: Dingy, crappy, you name it. It smelled like sweat and alcohol. Kyle was there and Scorpia had waved at him while Catra flipped him off, but they otherwise didn’t interact. Catra had a goal that night: Hand Prime her demo CD. Sure, the Horde was still basically a no name brand, hardly even a smudge on the charts, but they had talent. Catra knew when someone was close to making it big and she wasn’t going to miss out on the chance of getting out of this shithole. </p><p>She was talented. That wasn’t a question. Absolutely no one could beat her on the bass and the Horde’s bass player was weak. If they just heard her out, if they just gave her a chance, she knew they’d dump the loser and snatch her up in a second. </p><p>“Not my best plan, but you gotta admit: I’m right.” </p><p>Adora nods. She reaches out and traces the freckles at the bridge of Catra’s nose. The smile that blooms on Catra’s face is blinding. </p><p>Prime was creepy. The bass player, Hordak, hated Catra on sight, but Prime liked touching Catra’s hair and tilting her face this way and that. Another red flag. He took her demo, though, and promised to listen to it after the show. </p><p>Then: the fire. </p><p>Catra froze. The smoke was suffocating; smothering. Scorpia carried her out. They were both crying and coughing, trying to gather their bearings while people stampeded out of the bar, most of them alight with flames, the scent of burning flesh wafting in the air. She could hear the crunch of bones as they ran over fallen bodies. </p><p>“Come with us,” Prime said, holding a hand out for Catra. Next to her, Scorpia was saying something, but Catra accepted the offered hand. Even worse, she chugged the drink he handed her. </p><p>“I’m fine,” she told Scorpia. “Let’s just go.” </p><p>Scorpia said she could drive. Just come with her, she could drive. Catra got in the van anyways. She watched Scorpia’s grief-stricken face as the door slid shut and knew she was going to die. </p><p>“They all kept arguing as if I wasn’t even there,” she tells Adora. She’s smiling, now; an ironic turn of the mouth, all teeth. “Then one of them was like, ‘Are you sure she’s even a virgin?’ and for some reason I said yes.” She shrugs. “Couldn’t exactly tell them you and I traded that card a while back.” </p><p>If Adora weren’t so horrified, she’s sure she’d be blushing. </p><p>“Anyways, turns out it was a virgin sacrifice. They literally googled a random ritual. They tied me up and stabbed me, like, a million times. Apparently killing me would get Satan to make them famous.” She rolls her eyes; shifts in her seat so she’s hugging one leg to her chest, the other hanging off the swing. “It worked, somehow, but―”</p><p>“You’re still here.” </p><p>“Yup.” She pops the p. “And they’re famous. The kicker’s that I’m, like, invincible now. Seriously. You can’t kill me when I’m full. I jumped off a cliff and everything to try it out and all my bones popped into place. It was sick.” </p><p>“Catra,” says Adora. “What the fuck?” </p><p>“No, it’s fine. It’s cool, actually.”</p><p>“You died!” She grabs Catra’s face; cradles her cheeks in her hands, leaning in close. She’s pretty sure she’s crying. “They killed you and you’re, what? Fine with it?” </p><p>“Fuck no.” </p><p>“Then why are you so...so…”</p><p>Catra grins, and she’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. She’s dead. She’s alive, now, but those weeks where she wilted, her hair and skin and demeanor all paled...</p><p>Adora pauses. She lets go of Catra’s face, her hands falling to her lap. Her eyes burn. “What did you mean,” she says, slowly, “when you said you’re full?” </p><p>“I’m getting there,” she replies. She cups Adora’s cheek in her hand. She smiles again, her face soft, gentle. She used to look at Adora like this all the time. She looked at Adora like this before Adora leaned in and kissed her in her bedroom two years ago. She looked at Adora like this after, the two of them laying bare in that twin-sized bed, legs tangled together. The look fell when Shadow Weaver walked in and caught them. It disappeared altogether when Light Hope forbade Adora from ever talking to Catra again. </p><p>Catra continues: </p><p>She woke up with twenty-eight individual stab wounds. She woke up hungry. She ate a squirrel. It was gross. Then she stumbled out of the woods and walked, and walked, and walked until next thing she knew she was standing on Adora’s front stop and puking on the unicorn slippers she couldn’t believe Adora still wore. </p><p>“I was so hungry,” she says, “but I couldn’t eat you. You smelled so good, but I couldn’t. Not you.” </p><p>After she left  Adora’s house, she kept walking. She found Kyle in the same daze just a few blocks down. He was covered in burn wounds. To be honest, he smelled pretty gross, but she was so hungry. And he was so convenient. </p><p>“You couldn’t have just stuck with squirrels?” </p><p>“I’m not a fucking Twilight vampire, Adora. Squirrels don’t do shit for me.” She rolls her eyes. “Anyways. That’s it. That’s my story. Pretty fucked up, huh?” She finally seems to notice that Adora’s crying kinda hysterically and pulls her into her arms, stroking her hair, and says, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m fine. Seriously. Death isn’t nearly as bad as people think.”</p><p>Adora hiccups. She can’t stop shaking. She buries her face in the crook of Catra’s neck, knowing she should be afraid, and asks, “Who else?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“It can’t have just been Kyle. You look amazing again. Who else did you eat?” </p><p>“Oh.” The fingers in her hair resume, long nails lightly scratching her scalp. “You know that creepy mechanic near the Waste? Tung Lasher or whatever? He’s always leering at girls.” Adora closes her eyes; exhales in relief. Catra presses her cheek against the top of Adora’s head. “Kyle was a mistake. Don’t get me wrong, he totally sucked, but he didn’t deserve that. Tung Lasher, though? Totally did.” </p><p>“You’re eating people.” </p><p>“I’m eating <em> boys.” </em> Catra pulls away, hand sliding down to the nape of Adora’s neck. “Bad ones, at that.” </p><p>“You can’t just live off squirrels? What about deers?” </p><p>“Adora.” </p><p>“You’re going to get caught. This isn’t the 50s. There’s forensic scientists and all those super popular E! crime shows literally dedicated to weird murders. They’re going to lock you up or kill you or, I don’t know, experiment on you.” </p><p>Catra shrugs. “I wasn’t planning on sticking around for long anyways.” </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“Getting ritually sacrificed so a crappy indie band can get famous gives you some perspective. Why should I depend on a college scholarship or getting discovered to get me out of this shithole when I can just leave?” </p><p>Adora opens her mouth. She shuts it; considers what she wants to say, only to find that she’s at a loss. She should be horrified that the girl she’s been in love with since before she’s even understood the feeling is apparently some demonic cannibal. She finds she’s angry, instead. </p><p>“Okay,” she says. “Okay,” she says again. She gathers herself together. “I’ll go with you.” </p><p>“You don’t have to―”</p><p>“I’m not letting you go,” she says. “We’ll travel. It’s fine. I didn’t really plan on college anyways. I just have one condition.” </p><p>She leans in close and whispers into Catra’s ear. She pulls away; watches as a smile blooms on Catra’s face. It’s the best thing she’s ever seen. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>SALINEAS HOTEL CAMERA FOOTAGE: </p><p>[The hallway is empty. At the corner of the footage, the timestamp reads TUESDAY, APRIL 15, 2009 3:41 AM. The elevator doors slide open revealing FIGURE ONE and FIGURE TWO, both dressed in black. FIGURE ONE is two inches taller than FIGURE TWO.] </p><p>FIGURE ONE: This way. </p><p>[FIGURE TWO follows FIGURE ONE. Their hoods are drawn up, faces shadowed and unseen to the audience. They stop at DOOR 8200. FIGURE TWO knocks as FIGURE ONE pulls a BOWIE KNIFE from the pocket of their hoodie.]</p><p>[The door opens.]</p><p>UNSEEN PERSON 1: [to someone off-screen] Put that shit away! </p><p>UNSEEN PERSON 1: You groupies?</p><p>FIGURE TWO: Kind of. </p><p>[The footage scrambles; it turns to static just as someone screams.]</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b>THE HORDE BUTCHERED AT HOTEL</b>
</p><p>APRIL 16, 2009</p><p> </p><p>The indie pop band, The Horde, which rose to fame after the infamous and deadly fire at Etheria’s local bar, the Crimson Waste, was found butchered at Salineas Hotel this morning at 10:03 AM. They were found by a member of the hotel’s cleaning service whose name is not disclosed at the moment. All six members are confirmed dead, including lead singer Horde Prime and bass player Hordak Prime, who were both brothers. Details are currently tightly under wraps. </p><p>We will continue to update as the investigation progresses.  </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>no squirrels were harmed in the making of this fic</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>